Echo
by International08
Summary: He wanted to be there. Wants to be there, so badly. Follows The Vigil in the Sweetheart series. In progress.
1. Chapter 1

He's so dead.

It's not enough that he lost track of time, his fingers working feverishly to keep up with his brain, to keep up with Nikki and Rook. It's not enough that he couldn't find his car keys when he finally _did_ realize what time it was. It's not enough that he forgot to call Alexis or his mother or another babysitter so he now has a cranky, just-awoken boy struggling in his arms as he waits for a black town car to pull up in front of the loft.

As if all that weren't enough, traffic is at an absolute standstill.

He's so dead.

He could take the subway, it's true. It's only a block and a half to the Spring Street station, and with the traffic the way it is, it'd probably be faster.

But.

He can't. Won't. Not with his baby boy in his arms. Not after last time.

Castle sighs and shrugs his shoulders, tries to slough off some of the tension in his muscles, some of the anxiety that he knows his son must sense in him if the way the boy squirms is any indication.

He just...

He wanted to be there. Wants to be there, so badly. He doesn't want to miss a moment of it this time around.

And today's the day. The big day. Well, the biggest day until the The Big Day. He really didn't want to miss this one.

The writer juggles his son, gets an arm free so he can slip his hand into his pocket and slide out his phone. He presses the home button and holds, waits for the ding.

"Call Kate," he enunciates.

"Hey Castle," his wife answers cheerily after two rings. "Where are you?"

He shuts his eyes against his disappointment with himself. "Standing in front of the loft."

"Figured you'd have left by now," she replies, and if she's upset with him, her voice doesn't give it away.

He shakes his head, though she can't see him. "Meant to. Nikki and Rook-"

He doesn't even finish his thought before his wife is chuckling across the line. "Enough said."

"And then I couldn't find my keys, so I called a car, and traffic is just not moving at all, and..."

"And you don't want to take the subway," she murmurs, no trace of anger or pity in her voice, just understanding.

"It's not-" he starts, and then pauses, drops his forehead to rest against the temple of the boy who has finally stopped squirming. "No. I don't want to take the subway."

His wife is silent, but he can hear her breathing, so he knows the call hasn't dropped. She's...waiting. Waiting him out. Waiting for him to unburden himself on her. But there's no more to be said this time, nothing she doesn't already know.

"I'm here now," she finally says.

"I know," he groans. "I'm so sorry, Kate. I didn't want to miss-"

He stops, his throat thick with want and regret, with latent anger at the world.

"I know, baby," she says gently, the words wrapping around him, making him ache. "I don't want you to miss this either."

Sighing, he pulls his son closer to his chest, scans the streets for any sign of his town car. Nothing.

"There's no way I'll make it in time," he mutters.

He hears the shuffle of feet and the squeak of a chair, then an unmistakable sound — the staccato of his wife's heels on linoleum.

"Hi, yes, Castle?" she says, but her voice sounds distant.

"Yeah?" he answers.

"Hold on," she replieds, her voice closer this time. "Not talking to you. Give me a minute."

He stands there obediently, waiting for her, listening. There's an unfamiliar voice speaking to her, a brief greeting he can't quite make out.

And then Kate again. "Yes, I have an appointment for 2:30 today. I need to reschedule."

"Kate, no," he protests. He knows how excited she's been for today.

"Hush," she whispers to him as the unfamiliar voice says something else, the only words he understands sounding something like "lucky" and "cancellation."

"Ten o'clock tomorrow morning is fine," his wife says. "We'll see you then."

He hears the clack of her heels again, and the swish of an automatic door.

"Kate, you didn't have to-" he begins, but she cuts him off.

"Not doing this without you, Castle," she tells him, her voice brooking no argument. "Not this time."

"Thank you," he breathes, his whole body relaxing.

"I took the afternoon off," she says softly. "I'll be home in a little while. Looking forward to seeing my guys"

He nods, his face breaking into a grin before he realizes she can't see him. "We'll be waiting."

"And Castle?" she murmurs.

"Mmm?"

"You better pay up tomorrow when we find out it's another boy."

He laughs, his heart thudding hard in his chest. "No way, my dear detective. It is definitely a girl."

She hums a little in his ear, and he can picture her smile, the love painted across her cheekbones and sparkling in her eyes. "We'll see."

He draws in a deep breath, shuts his eyes. "Yes, we will."


	2. Chapter 2

**_Four months earlier:_**

_He was fumbling with his keys when he found the note just outside of the elevator on their floor. _

_Leaning down, he caught the fluttering edge between his thumb and forefinger, tugged the yellow square from the carpet, and lifted it up until he could read the neat, all caps handwriting — his wife's handwriting._

-VITAMINS

_His eyebrows furrowed. Vitamins? Maybe she'd started a shopping list but the paper had fallen out of her pocket or purse on her way out._

_Tucking the note into his pocket, he sorted through his keys until he found the right one, eyes downcast as he approached the door to the loft. _

_But there, stuck to the handle, was another note._

-ICE CREAM

_Hmm._

_He opened the door slowly, called out his presence as he entered, but there was no answer, and it was quiet in the loft. Another note greeted him from the bowl where he always drops his keys, this one in his own handwriting._

-Milk  
-Eggs  
-Butter  
-Chocolate Bars  
-Graham Crackers  
-Marshmallows

_Laughter bubbled up within his chest, joy that couldn't be contained. Ingredients for his s'morelet, which Kate grudgingly admitted wasn't *all* bad._

_And this note told him she wasn't just writing a grocery list. He knew this note and its smudged ink from where she'd run her thumb over the words, its worn crease from the way she'd folded it to keep the precinct grime-covered sticky side on the inside of the note._

_"Kate?" he called out, but she still didn't answer._

_Shrugging to himself, he pushed open the door to their bedroom, toeing off his shoes as he reached his closet, his gazed drifting to the bed and then to the bathroom, just in case she was waiting for him in either location. But he was alone._

_The writer slipped off his jacket, one hand making its way to the cuffs of his shirt while the other reached for a hanger, found paper instead._

_He had to squint in the dim light to read it._

Come and find me.

_The corners of his mouth turning up, he hung his jacket quickly, then strode out of his closet, fingers deftly undoing the buttons at his sleeves and rolling his cuffs up his forearms._

_Hmm. Where to look?_

_But, as it turned out, he didn't have to look. Not really. Just had to step into the next room._

_She was sitting in his office chair, her eyes fixed on a book whose title was obscured by the way her hands cradled it._

_"Kate?"_

_Her eyes lifted to his, happiness shining in their depths, but she said nothing, only smiled at him._

_"What's up?" he asked as he crossed the room, perched on the corner of the desk and leaned down to press his mouth swiftly to hers._

_She caught him by the placket of his shirt when he tried to pull away, dragging him down for another kiss, this one slower, tender in a way that made his chest ache._

_Breathless, he sat up when she let him go, his eyes roving her face, taking in the way the afternoon sun streaming in through the windows gilded her hair and her skin and those eyes that stared at him with such adoration._

_He followed her gaze when she dropped it to the surface of his desk, knew already what he would find there. Another note, yes. Her handwriting once more._

_"More of your shopping list?" he wondered aloud with a chuckle._

_But she just shrugged._

_He reached out and brushed the backs of his fingers across her cheek, observed the way she turned into his touch even as she watched him, her eyes sparking as if she could hardly bear the anticipation of his reading the note. She was a conundrum, this woman, simultaneously vibrating with excitement and yet quiet and more peaceful than he thought he'd ever seen her before._

_Finally, he gave in, tearing his eyes from her face to stare down at the desk and the note that rested on it. This sheet was bigger and it didn't lay flat. Something was underneath it. His heart rate jumped._

_He had to squint to read the single word._

-PICKLES

_Throat clogged, he turned back to stare at his wife, his tongue heavy in his mouth for a moment before he could find words._

_"Are you-" he began as his hand dropped to the note, finger tracing the raised edge, his whole being longing to flip it over, but terrified in case he was wrong._

_She met his gaze and then he felt her hand, warm and soft over his own, her slim fingers curling around his thicker ones and guiding him._

_He looked down as she flipped the note to reveal a white and purple plastic stick taped to the back._

_And then her arm was around his neck, her mouth at his cheek, her breath warm and moist against his ear as he stared in wonder at the blue plus sign._

_"Yes."_


	3. Chapter 3

A girl.

They're having a little girl.

He hears a ringing laugh and the snick of a door closing, but neither draws his eyes away from the pulsing black and white of the screen in front of him. He's mesmerized.

And then soft fingers cradle his cheeks, a warm body slides into his lap, and his hands fall automatically to a slim — but thickening — waist.

"Looks like you were right," Kate murmurs, her thumb smoothing across his cheekbone as she bends toward him.

He meets her mouth without thought, lets his lips mold to hers, lets her work him over for a moment, her kiss gentle.

"We're having a girl," he breathes when they part, tilting his forehead into hers, needing to keep her close, utterly unable to not be touching her skin with some part of him.

She hums, a sweet sound that fills his chest until he wonders if it might burst. At least they're in a doctor's office if it does.

"We're having a girl," he repeats, knows he must sound like an idiot, but he doesn't care, doesn't care one bit, because he can see her — dimpled smile that speaks of secrets, bright eyes that are far too knowing, dark curls that will fall into her face while she tries to keep up with her brother. Oh, he can see it all.

Kate leans back in his lap, lacing her fingers around his neck to hold herself up, and he meets her sparkling eyes, sees a whole world unfolding within them.

"We never did settle on what I'd owe you if you were right," she says, one thumb stroking the skin just below his hairline, making him shiver.

His laugh catches him off guard, bubbling out of him unrestrained, and he tugs her close again, kisses her swiftly and deeply.

"Nothing," he growls when she pulls back, panting.

She frowns. "Nothing?"

"Everything I need," he says, his hands stroking down her sides and around to the slight curve of her belly. "Everything I want, I have right here."

She raises an eyebrow.

"Aside from Nate and Alexis," he clarifies. "Need them too."

"Still," she argues, leaning in to nuzzle against his ear. "A bet's a bet."

Her breath is warm and moist and altogether too distracting, but he marshals his wits, tries to think of something, anything. What does he want?

Oh.

"Name," he whispers, his heart aching with a sudden longing he didn't know he'd had. "I want to name her. I didn't get to-"

He doesn't finish his sentence, his mouth unexpectedly occupied with hers, something dark and desperate in the way she kisses him, and he wonders what it was like, picking a name for their son alone — with his daughter's input, to be sure, but without him.

"Yes," she agrees. "Yes, you can name her. You can name our daughter."

His arms tighten around her, and she holds him, warmth and strength and need and pure devotion radiating from her body into his, her heart beating strong against his chest.

"Just don't..." she says haltingly, and he brings his hands back to the curve of her waist, pushes her back until he can see her face.

"Just don't what?" he says, his lips curling at the hesitation on her face. "Tell me, Kate."

She huffs at him, some mix of what he thinks is laughter and frustration with herself for putting limits on his prize. "I'd just rather not have our daughter be named Apple or Bluebell or Dixie Pearl."

He chuckles at that and shakes his head. "I wouldn't do that."

Her skepticism is evident in her eyes, but he squeezes her, tries to assuage her fears. "You have veto power."

The detective leans back, her weight shifting over his thighs, and pulls her right hand from the back of his neck, holds it out to him.

"Deal," she declares when he takes the hint and clasps her hand.

He nods, grinning. "Deal."

A quiet knock on the door startles him, and he realizes for the first time that her doctor is nowhere in the room, must have slipped away to give them a moment to themselves.

"Come on, Castle," Kate says as she unfolds her long legs and stands, holding out a hand to him. "Let's go home and tell our family."

He follows suit, releasing her hand to wrap an arm around her thin shoulders instead, his lips brushing against the crown of her head as she hooks a finger into one of his belt loops.

They make their way out together, chat briefly with her doctor in the hall before they stop to schedule their next appointment with the receptionist at the front desk.

The pair of them share a look when the woman offers them congratulations and well wishes in the months ("and years," Castle murmurs) to come.

They've both done this before. They both know it won't be easy.

But neither of them will have to do it alone this time.


	4. Chapter 4

**_Eighteen months earlier:_**

_He knew she was worried about him._

_Worried that he wasn't getting enough rest, that he had developed insomnia. Not that he'd ever kept regular sleeping hours, not as a writer._

_He was used to being awake at all hours of the night, struck by a sudden bout of inspiration or the need to change a scene he'd written hours or days or weeks before. And she was aware of that, had been aware of that for longer than they'd been married._

_But he knew she worried now._

_He couldn't tell her he didn't want to sleep._

_He couldn't tell her that even after months of being out of the hospital, he was afraid to go to sleep._

_So he brushed off her concern, shrugged her off every time she mentioned the possibility of going to a doctor about his inability to sleep._

_It helped that she was getting more rest, since he was the one who got up when Nate cried in the middle of the night. He didn't tell her he was usually awake already._

_But in those still, silent moments, when his wife was asleep in their bed, when the bustle of New York traffic had quieted, when it was dark, and the whole world seemed muffled somehow, he got to know his son._

_He learned what each cry meant — hungry, wet, wanting to be held. He listened to the soft snuffles his boy made as he drifted off to sleep, tiny thumb in his round, pink mouth. He watched the way Nathaniel's eyes focused on him when he came into the room, the way the boy's cheeks stretched in an increasingly toothy grin at the sight of his father._

_And yes, he was tired, his body aching and weary. But he found he wouldn't trade those moments for anything in the world._

_Except._

_Except maybe for those thirteen months when he had missed all of this and so much more._

_"Castle?"_

_He jolted at the sound of Kate's voice, his head jerking toward the open door to find her standing there, silhouetted in the dim glow of the nightlight in the hall._

_He gave her a smile in the darkness, was grateful she probably couldn't tell just how tired he was, and that if she could, she'd likely chalk it up simply to the late hour._

_"He wake you up?" she wondered, yawning._

_The writer shrugged lightly, doing his best not to jostle the little one who'd startled in his arms when Castle had reacted to his wife's unexpected presence._

_"Needed a change," he said softly, deftly avoiding the detective's actual question. "Just getting him back to sleep now."_

_She pushed off from the door frame, her bare feet padding silently across the carpet, and found her way to his side, dropping gracefully to her knees and using his elbow as a chin rest._

_Reaching out, she stroked a finger across their little man's marshmallow cheek, and Castle watched as Nate's mouth opened slightly at the touch._

_"I love you," she murmured, and Castle smiled at the way this tiny thing had captured her heart._

_"I love you, Rick," she said, her voice hitching on his name._

_Surprised, he drew his eyes away from the downy head cradled in his palm, the hair dark against pale skin in the moonlight._

_She was staring not at their son but at him, her eyes bright and a little shiny even in the dimness of the room, her lips parted._

_He twisted his free arm to curl it around the back of her head, his fingers delving into her sleek curls. "I love you too."_

_"I just-" she began, but cut herself off, her eyes squeezing shut as she sighed._

_A question was on the tip of his tongue, but then she was standing, reaching down for the sleeping baby._

_She took him, and he felt a stab of hurt — of jealousy — as she walked toward the crib and carefully laid the baby down, making sure he was warm and fully asleep._

_All those nights when she'd done this alone. Or with Alexis sitting in this chair instead. The first seven months of their son's life, and he'd missed it all._

_It wasn't fair._

_The curved line of her back hunched over the crib for a few moments, kissing their son, and then she straightened and came back to him, her left hand extended toward him, rings glinting in the moonlight._

_"Come to bed," she whispered, but he shook his head._

_"Go ahead," he answered softly. "I'm not sleepy."_

_He would sit there all night, keep watch over his son, the way he should have been doing all along._

_Her hand rose to his stubbled cheek, her fingers spreading to card through the hair at his temple._

_Leaning down, she pressed her lips to his forehead. "It wasn't a request, Castle."_

_He felt the tension in his shoulders, tried to fight it off for her sake, knowing she'd feel it too._

_"Kate, I don't-"_

_She stood upright, and pulled on his hand until he had no choice but to give in._

_"You need to sleep," she told him, a note of pleading in her voice, her eyes dark and intent on his._

_He shook his head, but she stepped closer, her body flush with his, warm and soft and inviting._

_"It's okay to sleep," she murmured, pushing up on her tiptoes to curl her arms around his neck, her cheek pressed to his, her mouth at his ear. "We'll all wake up in the morning."_


	5. Chapter 5

Little hands tug at his sleeve, a small foot pushing against his calf, and the writer draws his eyes from his computer to find a sleepy-eyed boy trying to scramble into his lap.

"Hey there, monkey," he says with a laugh, reaching down to scoop up his son. "You don't have to climb me, you know. You could just ask."

Nathaniel doesn't respond, just pushes his face against his father's chest, his tiny fingers curling around the fabric of Castle's shirt as he nestles down.

Something must have woken him up then, if he's still like this, groggy and clingy. Normally the boy is bright-eyed, ready to go as soon as he's awake.

Castle leans back in his office chair to re-situate his son, pulling him into a position that will be more comfortable for both of them. Half-lidded blue eyes blink up at him when he looks at the little boy's face, a hint of a drowsy smile playing at the pink lips.

Smoothing his large hands across a warm forehead, the writer brushes Nate's hair out of his eyes, letting his fingertips trace patterns along the edge of his son's ear.

"Good nap?" he asks softly, and the little one nods.

"Where's momma?" he wonders, pressing his index finger to his son's nose gently and smiling as the boy's eyes focus on it and begin to cross.

"Sleepin'," comes the slow answer.

Ah. That explains it then.

Martha and Alexis had met them at the loft after their appointment, eager to find out what they'd learned at the doctor's office. There had been hugs and laughter and joy all around, Nathaniel grinning widely and darting from person to person, his energy palpable, though Castle doubted he fully understood what was happening. But he was happy when everyone else was happy.

After, once it was just the three of them, he wasn't surprised to see Nate blinking more and more frequently, his movements becoming sluggish as he struggled to stay awake as the sat on the couch, watching a movie.

He'd gotten careful hands under the boy, lifting his son into his arms and walking slowly toward the bedroom to let him nap in his own bed.

Kate had been asleep when he'd returned to the living room, a one-eyed green ball with arms and legs arguing with a giant turquoise and purple-furred thing on the screen in front of her.

He'd thought about picking her up as well, carrying her to their bedroom and snuggling in for a lazy afternoon of sleep and cuddling.

But she looked so peaceful there, and they'd been up late the night before. So he left her on the couch, turned down the volume on the television, and retreated to his office.

He had intended to write, but instead he found himself perusing lists of baby names, looking for something perfect.

He just doesn't know what.

Glancing at the clock, he sees that it's past five already. No wonder Nathaniel is awake. He's surprise Kate's still sleeping.

"Hey, little man," he murmurs, tugging his son up until they sit nose to nose. "Wanna help me make dinner?"

The sleepy boy brightens at that, his eyes widening. "Yeah."

The word is spoken with such wonder, and Castle wonders what he's done to deserve this, to merit this happy boy who idolizes him, who wants to help him cook, who comes crawling into his lap to snuggle.

"Quiet, okay?" he whispers. "Don't wanna wake momma."

Nate gives him a silent nod, his blue eyes solemn in the golden light that filters through the office windows.

Pressing his lips to dark hair, Castle stands, keeps his arms around his boy, not ready to let go of him quite yet.

They pad through the living room, and sure enough, Kate is still asleep on the couch, though she's shifted to the point that she's stretched lengthwise, half on her side, one hand tucked under her chin while the other rests protectively over her slightly protruding belly.

He pauses for a moment to watch her, to take in the way her eyelashes flutter periodically, the deep sigh of her breath, how her chest rises and falls so steadily.

And then Nate begins to squirm in his arms, and he knows he'd better get moving lest the boy decide he needs to cuddle up with his mother right this very second.

"Daddy?"

Castle glances down as they cross into the kitchen, feels little fingers curling into the hair at the back of his neck as his son stares up at him.

"Yeah?" he replies, tapping the boy's nose with his free hand.

Nate's whole face wrinkles up at the gesture, and he shakes his head before looking up at Castle again. "Pancakes, Daddy?"

The writers laughs and nods. Pancakes are relatively easy, and hopefully Kate won't mind.

"With chocolate chips, right?" he asks his son with a wink, grinning at the boy's enthusiastic flurry of nods.

Help is a loose term for what happens when Nate is in the kitchen with him, but he doesn't mind, even if the whole process takes a little longer. Shifting his son to a more comfortable position in one arm, Castle begins pulling out the ingredients for pancakes, then a large bowl and a whisk.

Nathaniel watches the process intently, especially when the writer starts mixing things together.

"I try?"

Castle looks down. "You wanna try?"

Nate nods, and Castle sets him down on the counter next to the bowl.

"Gentle, okay, buddy?" he says quietly, and the wraps his son's small fingers around the handle of the whisk, his own hand at the ready in case things start getting too messy.

Nate is slow at first, but when he discovers he can use both hands, the whisk swings rapidly around the bowl. A little too rapidly, Castle realizes, as the glass begins to skitter across the countertop.

One hand catching the bowl before it topples and the other hand landing on top of his son's, he slows the process, speaking softly to the boy who stares up at him with such bright, happy eyes. "Whoa there. I think that's probably good."

A few lumps remain in the batter, and he's just stirring those smooth and contemplating the logistics of turning on a hot burner with a two and a half year old within easy reach when a pair of arms snakes around his waist, a cheek pressing into his shoulder blade.

Startled, he nearly drops the bowl, hears Kate laughing behind him as she lifts up on tiptoes to rest her chin on his shoulder.

"Are my boys making me dinner?" she asks, her voice so soft and breath so warm against his ear. "A girl could get used to this."

Castle turns his head to brush his lips over hers, relishing the little sigh she lets out when they part. And then she's releasing her hold on him, stepping around him to hold out her arms for their son who practically leaps into her embrace, gives her a loud smacking kiss on the cheek.

"Pancakes!" the boy crows. "With chocolate chips!"

Kate catches his eye even as she snuggles Nathaniel into her chest, raises an eyebrow as if to say _Breakfast for dinner? Really?_

Castle shrugs, and reaches toward her, snagging her belt loop and tugging them both into his body. "What can I say? He's my son. I'd worry if he didn't want pancakes at every available opportunity."

She huffs at him as his lips feather across her tousled hair.

"Hey," he says as he pulls back to see her face, to see the amused, tolerant, only superficially annoyed glint in her eyes. "At least I haven't introduced him to the s'morelet yet."


	6. Chapter 6

_**Nineteen months ago:**_

_He felt so...helpless._

_Nothing he tried worked._

_He tried a damp, lukewarm washcloth._

_That had gotten rid of the fever, but not much else._

_So he talked._

_He sang._

_He read from _Heat Rises — _not *those* parts._

_He paced the room, keeping his steps slow and smooth._

_He checked the diaper. Nothing._

_He warmed a bottle. Nate wouldn't eat._

_He laid the boy in his crib, set his large palm over the little one's stomach, hoping the heat or the pressure or both would calm him. It didn't work._

_Nothing worked._

"_Please, little man," he murmured, cradling his son's body close to his chest, letting his worn tee shirt absorb the tears and muffle at least some of the wailing. "I don't know what else to do."_

_He'd been at it for more than an hour, already awake — as he often was these days — when Nathaniel began crying. Honestly, he was surprised Kate hadn't woken up yet. Of course, he had turned off the baby monitor when he first entered the room, wanting to let his wife sleep if possible._

_Now though, now he wondered if he might have to wake her anyway. If it might be a good idea to take their son to the hospital._

_He'd done everything he could think of, and the fever was gone, but the little one continued to cry._

"_Castle?"_

_He turned sharply at the sound of Kate's voice, eliciting a particularly loud wail from the baby in his arms._

"_What's wrong?" she asked as she crossed the threshold of the room, her hair tousled, her slim body clad only in one of his large shirts._

_She reached for the baby when she was near enough, but he felt himself tighten his grip on the boy, some part of him unwilling to have his son taken away from him, even by Kate. _

_A question flashed in her eyes, accompanied by a hint of hurt, but she set her palm on his forearm instead, stared up at him, her eyes glinting in the dark._

"_He had a fever," the writer said, his voice low. "I gave him a sponge bath, and that cooled him down, but he won't stop crying."_

"_Did you check his diaper?" she asked, her thumb, smoothing across his cool skin._

_Castle nodded._

"_Give him a bottle?"_

"_Tried that too," he said. "He wouldn't take it."_

"_Walk with him?" she asked. "He likes-"_

"_Yes, did that," he cut her off._

"_Did you-"_

"_I've done this before, Kate," he exploded, quietly. "I know what I'm doing, and I've tried everything that normally works and a few things that never have, just for good measure."_

_Her hand dropping from his arm, she took a step back, the hurt now clear in her eyes as she reached up to brush a stray lock of dark hair from her forehead, tucking it behind one ear._

"_I'm sorry," she murmured, and his heart dropped like a stone in his chest. "I just...I did this alone for months, and..."_

"_You think that's news to me?" he hissed, his pent-up frustration seeping into his words. "I know that, Beckett. It's not like-"_

_Her eyes flashed at the use of her last name, the name he only used at the precinct now, but he couldn't stop himself._

"_It's not like I didn't want to be here," he ranted on, his words somehow both quiet compared to Nate's crying and yet jarringly loud in comparison to the rest of the loft. "It's not like I meant to end up in a coma for thirteen goddamn months, missing half your pregnancy and my son's birth and-"_

_He met her eyes again, found them shiny and broken, one hand covering her mouth, her breathing uneven._

_Shit._

_God, he'd fucked up._

_Loosening his grip on his wailing son, he shut his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and then extended his arms, one hand cradling the back of Nathaniel's head, the other on his rump._

"_Here," he whispered. "You take him, Kate. I'm sorry."_

_She reached out, her fingers brushing against his as she took their son, her arms pulling him back toward her chest._

_The boy quieted immediately._

_Castle turned and walked out of the room._

* * *

"_Castle?"_

_She found him in his office, her voice drawing his weary eyes from the laptop where hundreds of pictures flashed across the screen: Kate, Martha and Lanie at her baby shower; Kate and Alexis at the hospital, his wife looking drawn, but happy as she held their son; Alexis sitting in the rocking chair, one of Nate's tiny fists curled around her red hair. _

_They'd documented everything. He had hundreds, maybe thousands of pictures from the months he'd missed. But he didn't have the memories. And apparently didn't have the ability to give his son what he needed._

"_Hey," he said gruffly, his earlier anger dissipated, leaving him with a hollowed-out feeling in the pit of his stomach._

_She pushed off from the bookshelf she was leaning against, and walked toward him, her bare feet silent on the rug._

"_I'm-" he began, but she shook her head, settled on the edge of his desk, one hand pushing the laptop shut._

"_I know," she said. "And it's okay."_

"_It's not okay," he argued. "I shouldn't-"_

"_No, you shouldn't," she said quietly. "But it's understandable."_

_He leaned forward, resting his face in his hands. "I just...I'm his father. I knew exactly what to do when Alexis was sick, but with Nathaniel..."_

_Her hand landed on the back of his neck, fingers lightly squeezing the tense muscles. "You are his father, and you're a good one."_

"_But I missed so much," he groaned, his throat tight._

"_When Alexis was a baby, you were probably the one who usually took care of her, right? Fed her, changed her, rocked her to sleep — all of that?"_

_He nodded, raising his head. "Meredith wasn't exactly..."_

_Her lips quirking into a half smile, Kate nodded. "I figured."_

"_What does that have-"_

"_Even if you'd been here this time, I would've been the one doing a lot of that," she pointed out. "At the very least the vast majority of the feeding."_

_She carded her fingers through his hair, short nails scratching lightly across his scalp. "It's just instinct, Castle. I fed him, I'm the primary source of comfort."_

_Palm curving around the side of his head, she tweaked his ear. "Plus, you know, the nine months of being a personal habitat for the kid."_

_He leaned toward her, pressing his forehead into her stomach, her knees bracketing his chest. _

"_I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry, Kate."_

_Her hands rested on the top of his head for a moment, then dropped to his shoulders, pushing him back. Meeting her gaze, he watched as she curled forward, catching his chin between her thumb and forefinger to draw him up to her._

_Soft, giving lips met his, and she kissed him, melted away his worries and his sorrows with the touch of her mouth._

"_You'll see," she murmured when they parted, her thumb smoothing across his bottom lip. "You'll be here for everything with the next one, and sometimes they'll still need mama to stop the crying."_

_She slipped off the desk and started toward their bedroom, but he caught her fingertips, made her turn back to him with a raised eyebrow._

_He stared at her for a moment, his lips parted, his heart racing. "The next one?"_

_She laughed and came for him, her palm sliding warm up his chest to curl around the back of his neck. "Not yet, stud. But someday."_


	7. Chapter 7

His wife is very much pregnant.

Not that she wasn't before, he knows that. But it's entirely apparent now.

Her otherwise still slim figure curves sharply outward around the middle, and he loves it. Loves stepping up behind her in the bathroom as she's getting ready in the morning, sliding his arms beneath hers, his large hands stretching to span her swelling waistline.

She shakes her head at him every time, but when he meets her gaze in the mirror, her eyes are soft, adoring. She finishes her makeup or her hair or brushing her teeth and then leans back into his body, her hands moving to link with his, her head tilting to one side as he peppers kisses on the spot behind her ear, trailing down to her neck and her collar bone.

When he looks up again, her eyes are always open, always on him.

He wonders sometimes if his love for this oh-so-visible part of her pregnancy is some kind of male pride, proof to all of his virility, of how he landed this sexy, smart, beautiful, extraordinary woman.

Maybe it is.

But the peace in her expression when she meets his eyes in the mirror tells him it doesn't matter even if that is part of it. Her expression tells him that this — the life growing inside her, the family they are already and the one they will be — is good and right and everything they need.

And then she'll turn, press her lips to his cheek and slip out of his grasp. He follows her every time, trails along behind her as she scoops up her bag and shoes, watches with his heart brimming as she cuddles with Nathaniel for a few minutes, holds her jacket as she shimmies into it, leans toward her for a kiss.

Sometimes it's slow and sweet, her mouth soft beneath his, her arms twining around his neck as her fingers curl into his hair, her whole body warm and giving within his grasp.

Other times it's swift and hot, her nails just rasping his chest as she grips his shirt, her mouth urgent and needy, taking from him and yet giving back so much in return, leaving him breathless.

Those are the days when he wishes he could follow her out the door, ride in the elevator with her, let his hand wander over her thigh as she drives them to the precinct.

Instead, he stands there, mouth agape and eyes feeling foggy as she opens the door and tosses a wink over her shoulder as she strides out.

One morning after she kissed him like that, Nate ended up with orange juice in his cereal instead of milk thanks to his father's dazed state. The boy wasn't happy. Neither was Castle when he had to clean up the results of that particular mishap.

He tells her about it when she calls to check in with him later in the day.

She laughs, claiming it's pregnancy hormones and she really can't control *when* she'll find him unbelievably sexy.

He says he's not sure whether to believe her. Says he knows she loves to tease him. Her answering chuckle sounds a little too evil, but her voice is tender as she tells him she'll be home in a few hours.

It's only after they hang up that he realizes what she said and fires off a quick text: _I'm hurt. I thought you found me unbelievably sexy *all* the time._

Her only reply is a winking smiley, a tiny symbol that somehow sets his heart pounding.

Hours later, as the clock turns from 11:59 to midnight, he rests on his side behind her, his arm curved protectively around her middle, their sweaty skin sticking in ways that are still delicious as they cool down together.

His lips feather across her shoulder as her finger tip traces a pattern on his open palm, over and over — a horizontal line, a vertical line, a half circle.

He lifts his head when he realizes what she's doing, when he realizes what day tomorrow — today now — is.

Five years.

Five years since she showed up on his doorstep hours after he'd written her off for good.

Five years since she started making his dreams come true in ways he never dared to want.

Castle lifts his arm from her grasp, turns her carefully, shifting his body to accommodate hers.

He sees it all shining in her eyes — love and contentment, hope and passion, a ferocious will to protect and nurture this life they've created together. He knows his own eyes must mirror hers.

Cradling her cheeks in his hands, he kisses his wife.


	8. Chapter 8

_**Twenty months ago:**_

_He woke to a weight against his shoulder, as if someone was leaning against him. Had he been asleep that long? Had Kate come home and cuddled up with him?_

_Blinking his eyes open against the bright light overhead, Castle yawned, his jaw popping. When his eyes adjusted, the writer turned his head. But instead of the brown curls he expected, sleek red locks greeted him instead._

"_Alexis?" he wondered aloud, noticing for the first time the slim hand tucked into his own, noticing the way his fingers had curled instinctively around hers._

_He lifted his free hand, reached across his body to brush the hair away from her forehead. "Alexis."_

_His daughter twitched, and then her eyes opened, foggy with confusion, ice blue clearing after a moment._

"_Hey pumpkin," he said, laughing. "Something wrong with your pillow?"_

_Blushing, Alexis sat up, but he squeezed her hand, holding it tight in his. She gave him a shy half smile._

"_Hi Dad," she said quietly. _

_The young woman ducked her head, lifting her free hand to tuck a lock of fiery hair behind her ear._

_He leaned toward her, putting his face in her line of sight and pulling her chin up until she met his eyes._

"_You okay, sweetie?"_

_She nodded, leaning into his touch for a moment._

_And then her arms were around his neck, her face buried against his shoulder, hot tears flooding onto his skin._

_He didn't know what to do, didn't know what had brought this on, didn't know if she was okay. He'd thought she was. She'd been home for dinner just the night before, bumping hips with him in the kitchen as she stopped him from putting cinnamon in the spaghetti sauce, asking Kate for advice about the cute boy in her anthropology class, making faces at Nate._

"_Alexis," he murmured. "Pumpkin, what's wrong?"_

_She sobbed into his shoulder, her thin frame shuddering against his chest. Palming the back of her head, he stroked his fingers through her hair, speaking soft nonsense into her ear as he held his daughter. _

"_I.." she hiccuped, her voice muffled as she talked into his shirt._

_Dropping his hand to shoulder, he tugged her back so he could see her, ran his thumb beneath her eyes, wiping away her tears._

"_What happened?" he asked. _

_Her face pink, she shook her head. "Nothing."_

"_Alexis."_

"_Nothing, Dad," she told him. "Really."_

_He frowned. "Not that I'm ever averse to cuddling with my daughter, but you know, the crying, well, that's not one of my favorites."_

_She gave a watery chuckle, and a sniffle. "One of my friends gave me a ride home today."_

_He raised an eyebrow when she paused, waited for her to continue._

"_She needed to drop off some paperwork for her internship at New York-Presbyterian."_

_Oh. _

_He didn't say anything, knew she'd get the whole story out if he just gave her time._

"_And I went in with her, and I was standing there in a hallway, and I just-"_

_Her eyes filled with tears again, and he pulled her into his chest. God, unless a baby was being born, he never wanted her to have to go back to that hospital again. Didn't want any of them to have to go back. _

_He was sick of the place after a few days, and he didn't even remember most of his time there. Alexis and Kate and his mother. They were the ones who had memorized the sterile halls and the fluorescent lights and the faces of the myriad doctors and nurses working there._

"_I'm sorry, baby," he whispered, shutting his eyes as he pressed his lips to the crown of her head. "I'm so sorry."_

"_I missed you," she sobbed, her voice rough and sounding so much like a little girl that his heart ached. "I missed you so much, Daddy."_

_He tightened his arms around her, pulling her into his lap and rocking her as he had when she was younger, when she would wake screaming from a nightmare._

_He was home now, and whole. He had an amazing family: a woman he loved as he had never loved another, a son who challenged him and made him laugh, a daughter who was wise and loving, a mother who doted on all of them._

_But sometimes he wished he could go back to the days before his daughter's nightmares had become reality._


End file.
